


How Not Like Everyone Else You Are

by LittlePageAndBird



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Darillium, F/M, Fluff, Maternity clothes, Pregnancy, Shopping, So Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23610541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePageAndBird/pseuds/LittlePageAndBird
Summary: River tilts her head, eyes wandering down to where her dressing gown stops an inch too far above his knees for comfort, and smirks. “Suits you.”He sighs, trying in vain to stretch the red silk down further than it’s capable of going. “Ok. Sweetheart? I’m going to need you to spare me some of my clothes.”“Why?”He tries to glare at her, but when she smiles at him like butter wouldn’t melt his face fails to comply. Damn it, he’s so soft for her that this frowny face has been left completely at odds with itself as it is - and she knows full well that the addition of her being pregnant has left him utterly at the mercy of that smile. “Because - I’m cold!”She hums, sipping from her mug of tea smugly as her eyes rake over him. “And I’m one light breeze away from a perfect view.”
Relationships: The Doctor/River Song, Twelfth Doctor/River Song
Comments: 5
Kudos: 74





	How Not Like Everyone Else You Are

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Sarah for the prompt! Hope you enjoy. xx

If there’s one thing in all of time and space that the Doctor can always be certain of, it’s that when he wakes up to find both his clothes and his wife gone, the two disappearances are _always_ connected. 

This particular morning, the outfit he could have sworn he left folded on the chair in their bedroom last night is nowhere to be seen. Giving up, he pulls on the only means of covering himself he can find in his vicinity, which happens to be River’s dressing gown. It’s not exactly his size, but at least the colour’s nice.

“River,” he calls out as he inches his way to the kitchen. “Have you seen my…?”

His feet squeak on the tiles as he grinds to a halt, taking in the brooding figure at the table. Said figure has her feet up on his chair, her toes just peeking out of the ends of the trousers she’s wearing. 

It takes him a moment to stop fretting that his wife has shrunk in the night and notice the plaid pattern. Of course. “...Trousers.”

River crunches on her toast and raises an eyebrow, silently daring him to challenge her. Upon further inspection, he realises that her rounded stomach is poking out of the bottom of his favourite t-shirt. Ever since she started getting bigger she’s been very slowly hoarding his garments piece by piece until this morning when, apparently, she’s finally acquired the whole collection.

She tilts her head, eyes wandering down to where her dressing gown stops an inch too far above his knees for comfort, and smirks. “Suits you.”

He sighs, trying in vain to stretch the red silk down further than it’s capable of going. “Ok. Sweetheart? I’m going to need you to spare me _some_ of my clothes.”

“Why?”

He tries to glare at her, but when she smiles at him like butter wouldn’t melt his face fails to comply. Damn it, he’s so soft for her that this frowny face has been left completely at odds with itself as it is - and she knows full well that the addition of her being pregnant has left him utterly at the mercy of that smile. “Because - I’m cold!”

She hums, sipping from her mug of tea smugly as her eyes rake over him. “And I’m one light breeze away from a perfect view.”

“Right. That’s it.” He marches over to the counter to rifle through the pile of leaflets left on there. “I’m sure I saw something come through the door the other day… ah-ha!” He brandishes the one he’s looking for and presses it to the table in front of her. “There’s a new shopping district just opened, an hour or so from the restaurant.”

She casts the flyer a distasteful glance. “And?”

“ _And_ , we’re going to buy you some clothes that fit.”

She smooths out his t-shirt over her bump, blinking up at him innocently. “I have clothes that fit.”

“Your _own_ clothes.”

River rolls her eyes.

She spends the whole drive over trying to persuade him of the many things he could be doing to her besides taking her shopping. By the time they’ve parked the car she’s just about realised that she can’t lure him away from this endeavour and trails by his side, huffing loudly every few seconds to make sure he’s completely aware that she’s not enjoying herself.

“I don’t see why we can’t just hop off the planet for a bit,” she protests. He’d managed to coax her into giving his clothes back for the day and squeezing into an old dress, but she’d insisted on hanging onto one thing. Not that he’d ever be caught encouraging this behaviour, but she does look rather lovely in his velvet jacket. “Somewhere with decent shops. Preferably designer. Expensive fabrics. A personal tailor. And when I say personal, I mean-”

“I always know what you mean, dear.” He pulls sulkily at his t-shirt that smells like River’s perfume and is now decidedly baggier around the stomach, stooping to roll his trouser legs down. “Because whenever we _hop off_ the planet, you always find ways to get us sidetracked. As I recall, last time you started a war with those talking cows, with the three eyes-”

“They stole my chalice!”

“- Which is the last thing you should be doing when you’re pregnant. Wasn’t it their chalice?”

She shrugs. “Fine! You win. Let’s get this over with.”

The district is teeming with tourists, buzzing around the sprawling streets of market stalls under canopies. River makes no effort to find the clothes stalls, instead forcing him to hand over credits to three separate jewellery merchants, mouthing apologies, as she slips sparkling accessories into her pockets.

He manages to steer her towards an avenue of clothing displays, all but picking up her feet to nudge her into the maternity section. There’s a splendid display of hats on a nearby stall, and he tiptoes over when River appears to be safely preoccupied. A velvet top hat with an ostrich feather tucked into the brim catches his eye.

“Don’t even think about it,” River’s voice barks just as his hand closes around it. She isn’t even looking at him, such is her knack for keeping him forever separated from fetching headgear, filing through a rail of stretchy pink things with thinly veiled disgust. 

He leaves the hat behind reluctantly, wandering over to her. “It was my colour.”

“If it has feathers on it, it doesn’t matter what colour it is.”

“Feathers can be-”

“No.” She draws out a fluffy jumper with _yummy mummy_ scrawled across it in sequins and looks like she might be sick. “I’d sooner die.”

And she calls him dramatic. He swallows a laugh. “It’s not... _that_ bad.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Says the man who picks his outfits out of lost-and-found collections.”

“Says the woman who’s been wearing my outfits for the past month.”

“They’re roomy.” They pull silly faces at each other, and she grabs his hand, lacing her fingers through his. “I’m bored. I wonder if they have a weapons department? I really fancy a new sword.”

He’s about to fire up his speech advocating for a pause on recreational sword fighting, at least until she’s no longer growing a new person - he doesn’t know why he bothers, it’s a lost cause on her - when she comes to an abrupt halt and her grip on his hand tightens.

The stall they’ve stumbled across is home to a display of tiny baby clothes - hats and booties and button-downs in an array of colourful patterns.

“Oh - space theme!” River stands rooted to the ground, and he has to pry his hand out of hers by force to go to the little outfit that’s caught his eye. “River! Look at this one! It’s got planets on it! Not to scale, but I suppose I can allow a bit of artistic license.”

“Sorry about him,” she mutters to the stall keeper, who looks rather startled by his excited outburst. “I really ought not to let him out of the house.” She turns back to him, arms folded. “I thought we were here for me?”

“Well - while we’re here!” He holds up four outfits at once and waves them in her direction, grinning hopefully. 

She sighs, turning back to the adult section. “It’s far too early to be buying things like that.”

He watches her rub her baby bump distractedly and bites his tongue, placing the tiny clothes back on their rails in defeat and following her.

She puffs out her cheeks. “Can we be done now?”

“You haven’t bought anything!”

“So?” She nudges his hip with hers. “I can just walk around naked.”

“The average temperature on Darillium is six degrees below freezing,” he answers dryly. “That would be very ill-advised. Particularly in your condition.” 

She snorts. “You’ve spent an awful lot of our time here with your clothes off to be dishing out advice like that.”

“I wear clothes!” he protests feebly. “When you haven’t nicked them.”

“Handcuffs don’t count as clothes, darling.” She smirks, and her eyes light up when she notices the stall they’ve moved onto. “Oh, now this is more like it.” She picks up a flimsy set of underwear, holding it up against her and cocking her hip. “What do you think?”

His mind is immediately filled with things that very much make him want to cut this shopping trip abruptly short, but he knows exactly what she’s doing and he’s not going to lose this one so easily. “It’s not maternity.”

“Exactly.” She runs a finger down his chest as he checks the tag.

“Remarkably overpriced, considering how little fabric you get for your money.”

“Can you really put a price on seeing me in this?”

He squints at it doubtfully. “Will it fit?”

She gives him a glare piercing enough to leave two smoking holes in his head, tosses the bra at his chest and turns on her heel. 

“No, wait - River, hang on-” The red lace catches around his wedding ring and he has to wrestle it off like a live creature, much to the amusement of a nearby assistant. By the time he’s managed to free himself, his wife is nowhere to be seen.

He finds her in the food district, at the back of an ice cream shop. Slaloming his way through waist-high gaggles of screaming kids, he drops into the seat opposite her and she does what she does best, which is to ignore him completely.

“Sorry.” He winces. “This mouth, it can be a bit-”

“Stupid?” she supplies with a winged eyebrow, stabbing her dessert repeatedly like it’s a voodoo doll with his name on it.

“Scottish.” He hooks his finger around one of the bowls piled high with ice cream and pulls it gingerly towards him.

“I’ve noticed.” She smacks his hand away, tugging the bowl back across the table and hugging it to her chest. “Get your own!”

He eyes the three large bowls lined up before her and decides it’s wise not to challenge her. “What’s wrong?” he asks instead, and she instantly bristles the way she always does when he catches her having feelings. Something’s off with her, and it’s not just him being a tactless arse. She’s far too used to that to be in this much of a sulk over it. 

“I don’t like places like this,” she mutters impatiently, like he’s squeezed it out of her.

“What, shops?” he asks, surprised. “You love shopping. Well. Is shopping the word when you don’t pay for any of it?” he teases, but looking to her face he realises he’s lost her. 

She’s looking around them with restless eyes, shifting in her chair like she can’t get comfortable, and as he follows her gaze he begins to see what she’s seeing. How she’s stationed herself right in the furthest tucked-away corner of this very busy ice cream parlour that only has tables with at least four seats around them, this parlour that’s packed with parents and kids having the exact type of family day out that this whole district is designed for. The exact type she’s never known.

He pries one of her hands away from her ice cream to hold it, hoping it might help her feel a little less alone. Alone can be awfully scary at the best of times, let alone for someone about to bring new life into the universe for the first time. He traces little circles into her palm with his thumb until she comes back to him, giving him that awful sad smile.

“It just... reminds me,” she says quietly.

“Of what?”

She sighs. “Of how not like everyone else I am.”

His hearts plummet so far down that he briefly flirts with the idea of buying her a sword just to cheer her up. “We can try somewhere else. Another planet, if you want to.”

She shakes her head, mashing chocolate sprinkles into her dessert. “I want to finish my ice cream,” she says slowly. “And I want to go home.”

“Ok,” he agrees softly. Damn it, he’ll surrender all of his clothes - he’ll wear hers if it’ll stop her face looking like it does now. In his itchy restlessness at not immediately being capable of putting a smile on her face, he shifts his chair towards her and knocks the small paper bag hidden behind his back to the floor. 

River’s eyes dart towards it. “Did you buy something?”

“Uh.” He briefly considers fibbing so she won’t get cross with him again, but she seizes the bag and digs into it before he can stop her. Her eyes blow wide as she pulls out the very small onesie he’d gone back to the baby stall for.

“Couldn’t resist,” he admits apologetically. He knows she’s not quite ready yet. But she laughs, much to his delight, when she sees the pattern of swirling shell fossils.

“Are those little ammonites?”

“Yep.” He grins. “Thought it would befit a future archaeologist.”

She tries very hard to hide a smile as she folds the outfit carefully and drops it back into the bag, but doesn’t quite manage it. “Kiss-arse.” 

She pushes the biggest bowl of ice cream over to his side of the table, sticking a spare spoon in it and turning the handle to face him.

He smiles and tucks in, nudging her foot with his under the table. “You know why I married you?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Because of how not like everyone else you are.” 

She tells him to shut up, but he’s finally coaxed that smile of hers out of hiding.


End file.
